The Beast of the 41st Century
by The Buzzaxe Bandit
Summary: Thousands of years ago, the Emperor imprisoned my character Jack's mind in the warp, believing him an agent of Chaos. Now, after watching helplessly as everything spirals ever downward, he has finally decided to release the mad immortal, sending the unkillable lunatic forth with one objective: wreak havoc!


**So I'm gonna be honest: I don't really know much about the Warhammer universe. To be fair, though, it is a very extensive and confusing world. I know the lore and most of the factions, but not much past that, I know fuck all. :(**

 **But I just couldn't help but put Jack in this. A world of chaos and turmoil, the grim-dark future of the 41st century, and then there's one lunatic just having a ball! So without further ado, let's get into it!**

The Emperor of mankind floated through the warp, watching his children struggle and fail, as he had for thousands of years now.

'I never thought it would come to this.' The Emperor thought/said. The two were one and the same here.

'No really? You mean you didn't plan to have the snot kicked out of you by an insecure little puke with daddy issues, thus spending the rest of your endless lifespan in a coma, while the whole galaxy spiralled into insanity? Some god you are.' A disembodied voice mocked.

'I am no god! You of all people know that.'

'Yeah, but those idiots sure as hell don't. And the ones who do seem pretty content to leave it that way. Sometimes it's best to take a tip from the villains and manipulate from the background.'

'You know I only had the best of intentions.'

'Yeah, well, the road to hell.' The second voice mumbled as a cigarette and lighter suddenly popped into existence, gripped by invisible hands, the lighter disappearing once its job was done. 'Little tip: never underestimate humanity's supreme ability to completely fuck over anything it touches.'

'Fifteen thousand years and still I have no idea how you do that.' The Emperor said, watching as an unseen mouth took a long drag from the floating cig.

'And I'll never tell.' The voice taunted childishly, blowing out a puff of smoke.

'... I know I will surely regret this. Possibly more than anything I've ever done. But I cannot sit idle and watch any longer.'

'I feel like I missed a step in this conversation.' The voice remarked in confusion, the cigarette waving lazily through the air.

'I am setting you free. Humanity needs breathing room. I need you to fight back the forces of Chaos, and help restore mankind to its former glory.'

'Ooooh!' The voice said with comprehension.

'The Inquisition is to be purged, as well as the politicians.'

'Ugh, fucking finally! I've been waiting for someone to say that my whole life!'

'The ruinous powers of Chaos will be dealt with in your usual fashion. But the Marines. Them you will leave alive. Broken, hopeless, shown the error of their ways, but kept alive. Even death should be denied them.'

The voice was stunned for a moment, and then the Emperor felt its wicked smile. 'Yeah, you're definitely gonna regret this. After all, you can't make popcorn.'

And then there was a box of popcorn clutched in an invisible hand.

"... I'm letting you go now." The Emperor said flatly, both relieved to be rid of this idiotic prattle, and dreading what it would do now that it had been released onto the universe.

The consciousness behind the voice felt itself falling through the warp back towards the physical world.

The God Tzeench looked "up." Something had caught its attention. The promise of something mildly interesting was enough to draw the chaos god's focus away from its weaving of the strings of fate.

But upon closer inspection this proved to be much more than mildly interesting. It was very interesting. Very dangerous. This was not something in the warp, but rather something that wasn't.

What he found was a void in the ever-shifting warp, a gap of pure nothingness, sucking in everything around it. Any daemons who wandered too close were likewise pulled in and destroyed.

Tzeench turned to the strings of fate to determine what was in store, only to realize that fate was being dragged out of its grasp! Tzeench grabbed for them, determined to wrangle fate back under his control.

But it was hopeless. Whatever was coming, it was unstoppable, unwavering.

Tzeench sent out the command. It needed to be destroyed. Then he turned away and shook himself. He was the god of fate. He pulled the strings, wove the tapestry of history. He was the storyteller, not another character.

So why was he so afraid?

 **so waddaya think? Read and review, tell me how you feel, let me know you care. (Lonely tears of a sad little creature desperate for recognition. :P) Anyway, this is gonna take some time to come out, since there's some stuff that needs to be explained in another story I'm working on. I just wanted to pitch the idea and see what I got. Might be able to put out the first few chapters, though. We'll see. Bye.**


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